


Wear That Dress

by DoreyG



Category: Henry V - Shakespeare
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Crossdressing, Henry is fairly bad at acting like a lady, Henry looks surprisingly pretty in a dress, M/M, Mentions of dubious lube (oil) storage, Nice dresses, Post-Canon, Unfortunate wimples, mildly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry is wearing a dress.</p>
<p>“Henry,” he says helpfully, for he feels that the man should be made <i>aware</i> of this fact as soon as possible, “you’re wearing a dress.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Henry only… Grins in reply, tramps inelegantly across the room to place a kiss upon his forehead, “doesn’t it look lovely?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear That Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Crossdressing square on my Kink_Bingo card. I have now written three different prompts three different lines, none of which can be linked together - I am wonderfully smart like that. Uses the Globe (2012 production, go see it if you can!) Characterisations where Montjoy is a sarky so and so and Henry is an adorable derp.

Henry is wearing a dress.

“Henry,” he says helpfully, for he feels that the man should be made _aware_ of this fact as soon as possible, “you’re wearing a dress.”

“I know,” Henry only… Grins in reply, tramps inelegantly across the room to place a kiss upon his forehead, “doesn’t it look lovely?”

…Well.

This was _not_ what he expected to be doing tonight.

Henry is, indeed, wearing a very nice dress. The skirt is full and flowing, somehow managing to look _elegant_ on his hips. The bodice above it is tailored as closely to Henry’s body as shaping will allow, he’s obviously wearing a corset underneath that pulls his waist into a sophisticated hourglass shape. He looks almost like a _lady_.

…He’s still his Henry, though. Broad shouldered, stocky framed, looking like he’s about to burst into a new piece of mischief at any moment.

He’s wearing a wimple over his hair.

“…Alright,” he manages eventually, sitting back in his chair and giving Henry another once over (just to make sure. He might be dreaming this, those were _unusually_ boring dispatches from France), “why are you wearing a dress, Henry?”

The man simply pouts. This is not useful, it is also not an answer, “you _don’t_ think it looks lovely, then?”

“I think it looks… _Interesting_ ,” he sighs, watches Henry’s pout grow larger with all the joy of a man learning that he’s about to be trampled by a rampaging yak, “attractive, alright? I just want to know _why_ you’re wearing such an interestingly attractive thing.”

…Henry’s pout fades a little.

He seems to consider for a long moment. He’s pretty sure that he shouldn’t regard it as progress “…Because I wanted to.”

_Entirely_ sure.

“Because you wanted to,” he repeats flatly, and gives Henry yet _another_ look over (in the vain hope… Even if it is actually a _very_ nice dress, and looking nearly _stunning_ on Henry’s figure), “okay. Have you wanted to many times before?”

“I still haven’t told you all the tales of my dissolute youth,” Henry announces grandly, with a chirpy little bounce that makes the wimple tilt into a quite alarming angle “…Which is a yes, by the way. There were some very nice ladies in the taverns that I used to frequent, I expressed an interest in briefly borrowing their clothes one day and they were happy to teach me how to wear them.”

...He’s arches an eyebrow at Henry’s haphazard stance.

Has to bite back a smile as the man heaves a loud sigh and straightens himself into a position more commonly associated with the most noble ladies, bite back a _laugh_ as he makes an odd face and mutters, “God knows how they manage it all the time, though.”

“They have skills far beyond our understanding, allow them to enlist in the army and you could’ve conquered Europe by next Tuesday,” he mutters wryly, and shakes himself back to seriousness at the _sharp_ reminder of a smile breaking out across Henry’s face, “but that’s besides the point… The point of your dress.”

“Yes, my dearest herald, I do remember that – I _am_ the one wearing it, after all,” Henry says sweetly, still smiling ( _grinning_ ) in his most annoyingly endearing way, “and an unasked question is the most futile thing in the world.”

“I _taught_ you that,” he _almost_ snaps, trying desperately to be actually annoyed “…Do your uncles know about this?”

“I’d hope not. It’d be a touch awkward to explain.”

“Your brothers? Your…?”

“ _You_ are running out of family members,” Henry’s grin slips for a moment, just as he leans forward to admonishingly tap the tip of his nose with one teasing finger, “and the answer to every single one of them, maybe apart from mad cousin Jack who lives in Yorkshire with two chickens and a small turnip, is _no_. I’ve never felt the need to share it with them.”

“You don’t have a mad cousin Jack who lives in Yorkshire with two chickens and a turnip,” he can only sigh, and reach out to grab Henry’s wrist in a quiet sort of apology, “why…?”

“Why would I lie about a cousin who has a dubious relationship with two chickens and a turnip?” Henry only arches his eyebrow, chuckles a little at his hopefully fearsome frown, “no, no – I _know_ what you mean… I only share this with the people I love.”

He stares at him for a moment.

…Tries not to smile yet again, as Henry drops _all_ pretence at being a good noblewoman and drops neatly down onto his lap, “you love your uncles and your brothers, I’d hope.”

“Now _you’re_ being deliberately ignorant,” Henry _flicks_ his nose this time, he honestly tries to be annoyed but it’s very hard when you’re repressing yet more chuckles, “I only share this with people that I’m _in love_ with, people who I’d happily spend the rest of my life with if the universe allows it.”

…Oh lord, now he’s biting down (without too much success) on a _stupid_ smile. This is starting to get embarrassing, “is that a hint?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Mm,” it’s best just to give up, really - lean in for a kiss and _damn_ all disapproval straight to hell, “I’m in love with you too, then. And, for the record, think that you look surprisingly good in that dress.”

Henry laughs into his mouth, “ _surprisingly_ good?”

“Much better than I imagined,” he assures, drawing back so he can look sincerely right into those eyes, “I suppose I just thought that you didn’t have the _build_ for it. But, thankfully, this corset is apparently capable of working miracles.”

“I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted,” Henry snorts, shakes his head with a fond twinkle in his eyes “…You’ve imagined me in a dress?”

“I’ve imagined you in many situations, Henry,” he purrs, swoops in for another kiss with _all_ the timing of a master at work, “in armour, in regal garb, in one of those dissolute disguises from your earlier days… You ended up panting underneath me in most of them, I must admit.”

Henry splutters a laugh, turns that endearing shade of red that has led to several undignified moments in cramped spaces, “even-?”

“ _Even_ in the dress one,” he can’t resist tracing it now they’re properly in private, pressing a brief kiss against that burning cheek and trailing down until he finds the line of Henry’s jaw, “yes.”

There’s a long moment when Henry’s clearly doing his best to repress giggles, an even longer moment before he finally gains (vague) control of himself and pushes him mischievously back against the chair “…Would you like to find out how that imagining feels in reality, then?”

He laughs so hard, this time, that he almost rocks Henry off his lap and onto the cold stone floor, “why not?”

And Henry pouts at him yet again. But it only lasts a moment before he’s bouncing up to his feet, beaming that ever so familiar grin and extending his hand for an incredibly eager _tug_.

They progress to the bedroom that way. Henry’s skirt whispering on the floor, his wrist being practically crushed in an unfairly tight grip, the both of them tripping over their own feet and giggling and generally being the _least_ mature people in all the world.

“Wall or bed?” He still feels the need to ask, when they’ve actually got into the room and he has Henry pinned up against the door with one leg trying desperately to work its way over his hip.

“…Bed,” Henry hisses out eventually, grinding briefly up against him before remembering himself and sliding back down, “the oil will be easier to get to, remember? I _know_ how you hate scrambling about just when we’ve got to the good part.”

He smiles fondly, ducks to give Henry’s cheek a quick peck as the man shoots past him at a wonderfully high speed, “I love your good ideas.”

“It was Richard’s idea, originally, I just- _don’t tell anybody about that_!”

He halts, halfway through his controlled turn while also undoing his doublet (he’s pretty sure that other people turn while undoing their doublets, but he does it with _style_ ). Sends Henry a glance somewhere between deeply worried and highly amused, “you never told me-“

“That’s because I never _did_ ,” Henry mumbles frantically in reply, already sitting back on the bed with oil in hand, “my father, maybe, but… _God_ no, that’s not important and shouldn’t be thought about for fear of scarring. I was just a rather curious child!”

…Right, the highly amused is winning out as he drops his doublet to the ground, “where?”

“In his throne,” Henry’s miserable expression, bless him, is just too _passionate_ to feel anything else, “it tumbled out when I was poking around one day. My father hurried in, saw it and made a noise like a dying squirrel.”

“I wasn’t aware that dying squirrels made any specific noises,” he dwells thoughtfully, quickly undoing his shirt and dropping it neatly down upon the doublet, “many we should do this in front of your uncles someday and see if they can replicate the sound.”

“…Can we please stop talking about this now?”

“If we _must_.”

…But he does so with a fond smile, for Henry’s passionately miserable expression really is _adorable_ and deserves all the soothing in the world.

His shoes, as ever, are easy enough to kick off his feet and into different corners of the room. This accomplished it’s also incredibly easy to start to stroll towards the bed, undoing his hose along the way and smoothly sliding it down his legs as Henry interestedly props himself up upon his elbows.

(It requires a bit of undignified hopping at a certain point, of course, but that only needs a _tiny_ bit of working around.)

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?” He asks as he finally gets to the bed, dropping onto hands and knees and slowly crawling up as Henry favours him with an amused smile.

“You appear to be forgetting one of the perks of being in a dress, my dearest herald,” Henry only whispers, and cards a hand through his hair when he pauses to look profoundly confused, “ _skirts_.”

…Skirts.

Of _course_.

He reaches back down the bed, blindly as Henry _helpfully_ chooses to distract him by laughing, and somehow finds the end of that skirt. Shuffles up until their mouths are level and drags it with him until their naked lower halves are pressed together.

Henry has started to pant softly against his mouth “…Oil?”

“You remember the best things,” he tells him fondly, and reaches down to grab the pot before it can tumble out of Henry’s hands and shatter all over the floor.

The slicking up of his fingers is an easy process by now, a practically _instinctive_ one. He pours the oil until he’s sure that everything is entirely _slick_ and then settles between Henry’s legs, yanking up the skirt again from its unhelpfully fallen position. The first finger that he slides in is already enough to have Henry scrabbling at the sheets, throwing his head back against the pillows with a soft moan.

“You’re so adorable when you’re incoherent,” he tells him fondly, and adds in a second finger when he’s struggling to open his eyes, “and wearing a dress, can’t forget that.”

“I’m not, _ah_ , incoherent,” Henry just manages to grumble, and chokes on a whine as he scissors those two fingers at _exactly_ the right moment, “and you think that I’m adorable in a dress?”

“The blue matches your eyes,” he offers sincerely, and adds a _third_ finger before Henry can splutter a laughing protest, “so, _yes_.”

“…Best compliment I’ve ever had.”

“I’d hope so,” he croons, for he _does_ have his pride, and tries a few thrusts with his fingers that _soon_ have Henry arching and biting back curses, “ready?”

“ _Fuck_ ” …Not too successfully.

“ _Ready_?”

Not that he minds, really, for Henry looks so _lovely_ when he swears. And even lovelier when he’s on the point of swearing, surging up on his elbows and desperately trying to refocus his eyes, “Fff… Yes, fuck yes.”

“I love your coherency,” he can only laugh… And draw back in one smooth movement, the loss of his fingers making Henry _groan_. Slick up his cock at high speed, listening to the encouraging moans underneath him with a certain amount of helpless glee. Dart back in as swiftly as he can to shove the dress up to Henry’s waist and draw Henry’s legs over his hips and focus on Henry completely and utterly-

“Come _on_.”

And thrust into him. The tightness, the perfection, the sheer heat that he’s still astounded by each and every time.

Henry is beautiful like this, with his head tilted back against the pillows and his throat working around a moan.

…Henry is always beautiful to him.

But now is most _emphatically_ not the time to compose an ode to that and so he doesn’t, simply draws back until he’s almost out and _thrusts_ back in when his Henry is least expecting it. Drawing a rough cry and a fist of those sheets like he doesn’t even care if they rip.

And he looks so gloriously debauched like this, with his flushed face and the skirts still bunched up around his waist.

It’s enough to get him setting a rhythm, a hard and punishing thing that soon has the both of them gasping and their bodies shaking so hard that it’s a miracle they don’t fall off the bed. He reaches, awkwardly but he could _not_ give less of a fuck, to pin Henry’s wrists to the bed – receives a wonderfully strangled moan in return.

And his waist is still so defined, still looking perfect to sling an arm around or grip so tightly that he’ll get a pillow thrown in his face later.

But now, yet _again_ , is unfortunately _not the time_. So he simply files that away in the mental box entitled ‘later’ (there are a lot of things in that box, he thinks that they’d be a lot easier to achieve if they both put aside their unfortunate desire to work and settled for staying in their bedroom all day) and digs his nails into Henry’s wrists. Draws a definite groan, a sudden clench around him that he almost loses the rhythm at.

But, then, if he hasn’t been distracted by the wimple sliding off Henry’s hair, leaving it in golden disarray and pooling around his neck then he _certainly_ isn’t going to be distracted by anything else.

Like Henry, having picked up the trick, clenching around him _again and again_. And Henry, wriggling his wrists until they’re practically holding hands. And Henry, tossing that golden head back against the pillows and _laughing_ and _yelling_ and making a whole symphony of glorious noises in between that make him firmly want to discard all resolutions.

(His rhythm is already starting to stutter, after all…)

Henry’s skirt has already fallen to pool around his hips, and the paleness of his thighs against the blue of his gown is enough to tempt any man to sin.

So he loses all knowledge of the outside world. Allows everything to simply narrow to _Henry_ : his golden, laughing boy. His sweet angel. His gorgeously dressed up man that can make him forget his own name given a bit of time and a lot of clenching. They move together perfectly for a long few moments – Henry’s thighs tightening around his hips and his pace increasing to an almost impossible level and the both of them gasping. _Gasping_ …

And the blue truly does match Henry’s eyes- and Henry’s eyes are fixed upon him- And the fabric of the dress is almost offensively fine everywhere that it brushes him- And Henry is laughing at that or his face or God knows what- And his skirt is still pooled around them- And- And- _And_ -

When he comes it is, as ever, spectacular. He slumps down on Henry with a drawn out cry. Knows, from the jerking of the man’s head a moment later, that they’ve eagerly followed each other yet again.

He pants for a second, face pressed against Henry’s slightly rumpled chest.

Draws out, in one long slide. Drops besides Henry with a faint grumble.

…They soon end up coiled around each other. Henry’s head resting on his shoulder, his hand slowly stroking down the fine fabric of Henry’s dress as they stare contentedly at the ceiling of the bed.

“Henry?” He says eventually, turning to press a kiss against that fair forehead.

“Mm?”

“…You really should wear that dress more often.”

And Henry, most _definitely_ wearing a dress and making it look so good that he half wants to see if they can go again, simply beams another smile and _laughs_.


End file.
